Red Flows the Sirannon Planning/Discussion Thread

[piosenniel]

Dwarves of Moria

Boromir88's character

NAME: Orin Bronzeeyes

AGE: 205 years old. (One of the eldest of the dwarves still left in Moria).

RACE: Dwarf, Durin's folk/Longbeard clan.

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: A, two-handed, double-bladed, battleaxe he uses for tight, cramped areas. A small one-handed iron axe used as a secondary weapon.

APPEARANCE: 4'11, rather short compared to other members of his kin but he more than makes up for it. Over the years Orin has packed on a few extra pounds as well. He has a long greyish/white beard that reaches down his thighs and braids his pure white hair into one LONG ponytail. He can still wield an axe better than most and his age and plumpness have no effect on his endurance when he gets into a rage. Orin is not one to trust to armor, feeling as it slows him down (or maybe it's just become more of a burden). He does wear a mail hauberk crafted by himself. He also carries a wooden shield with a rune only he understands.

PERSONALITY-STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Orin is feared as one of the best when it comes to wielding an axe in battle. Often when he sees orcs (or some foul creature) he builds into a maddening rage and you can hardly tell he is 205 years old. There lies his biggest weakness. He is lightly armored compared to the other dwarves, although he will never admit it, heavy armor becomes a burden to him. Also, with his growing age he has lost a lot of the speed in his attacks that his young nephews still have. However, his elogance and efficiency, when wielding a weapon, makes up for it.

Orin is a strong believer in family and strong bonds with his kinsman. He would put the life of any of his fellow dwarves above his own. The problem is if you aren't one of his kinsmen, or a family member, he finds it hard to trust you or make friendships. He often remembers prior feuds and has trouble forgetting the past (unless you happen to be another dwarf). If you are one of the few Elves he respects then you would be grateful to have Orin at your side, but if not, then it's just best to stay out of his way.

HISTORY: Orin was born 98 years before the forging of the three elven rings. He is one of the oldest dwarves still left to defend Moria. For most of his life Orin just spent most of his life learning the fine art of craftsmanship from his father, Frorin. He has never married, and has no children, but does have three nephews (being the eldest brother of their mother); Riv, Skald, and Bror. With no family of his own Orin has often tried to look after his nephews, whenever he could.

Orin has lived to watch the two eldest brothers to grow up and become fine, stout dwarves. He now focuses mostly on the youngest, Bror, realizing that sometimes he has a quick temper, and can get him into some trouble. He feels that Riv and Skald are old enough now that they don't need his guidance much anymore, but that doesn't mean he cares for one more than another. He simply recognizes Bror's anger and tries his hardest to guide him and would not able to cope with the possibility of failure.

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Boromir88's post

Orin was well aware of the rumor of the gathering of orcs, but he was not prepared on leaving, and had no intentions to. He sat fiddling with his double-bladed battleaxe wondering what this meeting was going to be about. Most of colony had heard the whispering of threats from orcs and other dark creatures. Perhaps it is just to confirm the situation, he thought.

While Orin was deep in thought he had not noticed that he cut his thumb on his axe. He smiled as he was pleased it was still sharp and if the rumors of orcs were true they aren't getting through Moria without a fight. Then it suddenly came to him, a poking pain in his thumb. It wasn't a serious cut, but it felt like one of those annoying papercuts; a sharp pain for days.

Orin cleaned up his cut, grimacing a bit while doing it, and decided he should be heading off. When he got there his two younger nephews, Skald and Bror, were already there, but he had not seen Riv yet. That is odd he mumbled. He greeted his two nephews with friendly hugs and went off to sit with some of the older dwarves. He wanted to see what they knew about the matter. Most of them knew just as much, or less than Orin, which wasn't much. He ran into an old friend, Fawrin, who was full of the latest rumors.

"They say a man named Annatar, who was once a friend of the elves, has turned against them." Fawrin began. "He is beginning to gathering a large force of orcs to launch an assault on Eregion."

Orin stood and pondered these "rumors," and wondered if there was any truth in them at all. "Who was, or is, this Annatar?" Orin asked.

"I don't know. All that's said is he was once a friend of the elves. Why he would all of a suddenly want to attack them is beyond me." Fawrin said.

"If he is attacking them, you mean." Orin chuckled. "Don't put faith in the whispering of the outside world. Especially if they are dealing with elves." Orin said elves in a sarcastic, demeaning way, for he did not like them very much. Except the elves of the lady of the Golden Wood. Her and her people had often had good relationships with the dwarves. Now that his mind was off elves, he still wondered where Riv was. "Have you seen Riv?" He asked Fawrin.

"No I haven't," he answered. "but I haven't gone looking for him either." They both laughed. "Well I better be off. Someone has to do the rumor spreading." Orin chuckled again as Fawrin left. He had always like Fawrin for his humor and ability to bring a smile to someone.

Orin sat down next to Bror and Skald and began to discuss the situation. Orin began to realize that the rumors weren't just rumors anymore; war was threatening and it would surely effect everyone.

"How have I been in the dark for so long?" Orin said to himself, but the others heard him.

"Because you're always locked up in your room working on who knows what." Laughed a familiar voice. Riv had finally come. He greeted everyone and took a seat, as well as getting a mug of ale, and got right into business.

‘Well, what have I missed? We’re taking a full complement of weapons . . . yes? No telling how long it might take the Elves to make their way down the Stairs and cross the valley. Or what might try to follow them.’ He took a deep drink from his cup. ‘There have been reports of Orcs sniffing about the Kheled-zaram. Or so I heard.’ He banged the metal mug down on the table’s top, a little ale foam splashing over the side. ‘Love to set my mattock in a few of their skulls and pick out what passes for brains among the filthy creatures . . .’

"Yesssss." Orin shouted in a bellowsing voice that shook the hall. The mumblings of war and Riv's talk had inspired him.

[piosenniel]

Elves of Lórien


Seth Cotton's character

NAME: Vaele Andarion

AGE: 1,268

RACE: Elf of Lorien

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS : Vaele carries a fine, carved long bow which he is very accurate with. The bow as engraved runes and is of very good quality. It was a gift from his father and therefore means quite a lot to Vaele. He also has a short sword attached to his leather belt which he uses at times for more close combat.

APPEARANCE: A lithe and elegant elf and has blonde shoulderlong hair with thin plaits on the sides that stretches all the way down to his shoulders as well. His clothing that he bears seems rather simple, but it offers more protection than it seems to. He wears a woven shirt with wristpads, shoulderpads and a thin armourplate on the stomach. Due to his need of staying flexible at all times, his armour must not weight him down. He has a dark green woven robe that gives him a splendid camouflage in trees, and in forest terrain in general actually. The rest of his outfit is pretty standard, elven light boots and typical pants with no remarkable protection, as he after all is a marksman.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: A quite laid back and calm elf, even in the most pressured and hasty situations, he somehow remains cool when many others panic. He often says that his brain is more powerful than his bow when it comes to fighting in a war, and at times it seems hat he is right. He takes advantage of the situations, the terrain and things around him to do what he has to do. Either it is about defeating a foe or bypass obstacles in his way.

He has a lot of honour and pride, and he is definitely not an elf to insult. Because insults is something he doesn't take lightly. This pride is nothing that really shows on the calm surface of his, but it is noticeable when talks, always adressing people with respect which is a way for him to show that he is honourable, acts or is being insulted. At verbal confrontations he is very quick to reply to comments about him, still with a calm intention, but his way of keeping his pride on top is obvious.

HISTORY: Vaele lived peacefully in Lorien, being trained as a marksman with a clear talent for accuracy and speed with the bow. He has become more and more skillful over the years of training in the forest, practicing his silent movement and sharp hearing which appeared to prove useful to him later in his life. He longed to prove himself worthy after all the training he had went through, and one day his chance came. To aid Eregion at all means.

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Seth Cotton's post

Vaele took up his bow, felt its weight. He nodded for himself and placed the fine longbow on his right side and let it lean against the wall as he took up the rest of his needed equipment. His quite weak breastplate was filled with memories, he sighed as he put it aside in the pile of “Necessary Things”. His longbow, arrows, breastplate, leather armour pads for both legs and arms and his hunting knife were all in the Pile of Necessary Things. As well his backpack with some bread and small, chopped pieces of fruit.

His sister came in, all dressed in white and golden hair. She walked in without a sound and kneeled down on the floor beside Vaele. She stroked him over the forehead and he turned his head slowly over to her and met her gaze. She looked sad, but Vaele knew that she was doing her best to hide it.

“I will come back sister.” He said and forced himself to smile.

“Be careful. I will not stand losing another brother cause of some meaningless fight.”

“I promise you I will return.” Vaele answered and rose up from the floor and began to strap on the armpads. As he came to the strapping on the breastplate around his back his sister helped him.

“Be brave Nilwèn, do not despair because of me. It will not help to griev.”

His sister rose up as well, her cheeks were red. “Do not play a hero!” She exclaimed, almost yelling at him with her lightest voice. He saw that she began to shiver, probably she cried but Vaele was not sure. Nilwèn ran out of the talan and Vaele stood in the middle of the room and looked with sad eyes after her. Vaele growled and took on his robe. He tried to ignore her and her emotional burst, instead focusing on what he had to do. He was not to let this interfere. His fingers nibbled on the robes silver clasp. Attempt after attempt he failed to fasten it.

After a cursing the clasp and a few more attempts without any luck, he managed to fasten it. He had never been good at practical things; doing things with his hands in general. He had never possessed that skill. He lifted up his backpack and took it on. He kept his bow hanging by his shoulder and his knife in the boot. He was all set to go. He left the talan, but stopped in the door opening and looked around in the talan for a moment. It had his been his talan for ages, his sanctuary, his oasis, and now he stood there knowing that he might never return to it again.

He stood for another moment, remembering all the times he had found peace in the quite small talan. He slowly closed the door and decided to bid farewell to his father. His father met him on the small lawn in front of the talan. They embraced as father and son, Vaeles father patted him in the back as he let go. He did not say anything, he didn’t have to, his eyes said it all. He was against it as well, he had complained about Vaeles decision from the day he mentioned that he had been thinking of signing up for it.

It surprised him, he thought his father would be more understanding than that.

“Farewell father.”

“Farewell my youngest son…” He stood quiet; closed his eyes and sighed. “Stay safe”

“I will.” Vaele said shortly and began to walk to the camp for the contingent which was stationed outside Caras Galadhon. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw his sister stand, beautiful and completely silent, looking after him as he walked. Her expression on her face was a memory he never forgot.

He walked lightly and swift, thinking he was already late. The darkness came closer over the talans and he wanted to get there as quick as possible. As he got closer he saw the banners and the many tents with preparations; archers checking their bows, captains giving orders. It was a constant alarm of noise.

“Archer, you are late.” Vaele heard a voice behind him, which sounded pretty annoyed. He turned to see who it was, and as he suspected it was the commander of their contingent.

“I beg your pardon, Commander…” Vaele said and half-bowed.

“Commander Eldegon” The tall, pale elf said with a remarkable superiority in his voice. He sighed and looked at Vaele, kind of examining his possible capabilities in combat. “Good at stealth? Scouting? We need a scout in the first rank. Someone swift and silent, a good hand with bows is appreciated, but by judging your equipment and yourself, you seem to be a pretty skilled archer.”

Vaele just nodded quite baffled. The elf talked clean and unusual quick. He must be in quite a stress, Vaele thought.

“Very well, get in the first rank and prepare yourself. We will march in the daybreak.”

Vaele walked over to where he was directed, the first rank in the lead. He was quite pleased with his given position, and being a scout fitted him well. He saw another elf from the first rank ahead. He wasn’t sure wether this was the first rank or not, so he walked over and asked the elf which appeared to be rather young. “Excuse me, friend, but is this the first rank?”

[piosenniel]

Gwydion's character

NAME: Alethian Eriam

AGE:3522

RACE:Elf

GENDER:Male

WEAPONS:Second Age elven-sword,dagger of the Noldor, Bow of the Galadrim, and quiver of arrows.

APPEARANCE: 5'10", dark hair, bright grey eyes, fair-skinned, lean, compact runner-like body. Uses all senses to the utmost possibility.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Far-sighted, strong, wise, small amount of arrogance.

HISTORY: Alethian has lived most of his life in Lorien and has mainly lived his life defending Lorien from the forces of evil. Tries to help all the elves and bolster all defenses, was once an aid to the Lady Galadriel, a great honor indeed and was sent to help Elrond of Imladris in the battle.

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Gwydion's post

[piosenniel]

Elves of Lórien


Arestevana's character

NAME: Gilduin Lindorion

AGE: 1,438

RACE: Elf (Noldor) of Lorien

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS : Gilduin bears the standard of the Lorien contingent. The oaken shaft is inlaid with silver and capped on either end by a silver spike. Gilduin also carries a longbow and a quiver of arrows. He keeps a long dirk sheathed on his right hip, but rarely uses it for fighting. The dirk is of his own making, a decorative weapon with a blade like that of a sword set into the wooden handle.

APPEARANCE: An even six feet in height, Gilduin has straight, golden hair which falls to his shoulders. He is slender and has the graceful strength common among elves. His eyes, dark grey, appear a lesson in contrast against his fair skin. He wears a loose, long-sleeved tunic of light grey, belted at the waist. He also sports leggings, stivali (light boots), and a half-cloak of the same color, with embroidery in silver on the neck and sleeves of the tunic and the hem of the cape. He wears a glove on his right hand (with which he bears the standard) but the fingers are open so as not to hinder his work.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Gilduin, though well over a thousand years in age, is younger than many elves. He has a tendency toward pride, and often feels an irrational sense of superiority around others, especially individuals of other races. However, this is rarely apparent, as he is by nature withdrawn. He is slow to give trust or friendship, though when he views someone as an equal he becomes a loyal companion. His pride does not equate to confidence, and under stress he often lapses into deep thought, taking no notice stimuli of the world around him. He is filled with deep regret for past decisions, but he hides it well. Gilduin was once skilled in the delicate working of metals. He made no large weapons, but occasionally created small knives, such as his dirk. With disuse this talent faded, and his strength is now in tracking and woodcraft. He is a fine shot with a long bow, but has little skill in melee combat. If needed, he has a fair hand at the quarter-staff, but his sword skill is lacking.

HISTORY: Gilduin has lived most of his life in Laurelindórinan. For many years, his greatest wish was to join the Elvensmiths at Ost-in-Edhil. However, he doubted his own skill, and his pride would not permit him to seek an apprenticeship there. He abandoned his craft and took up the bow, patrolling the borders of his homeland and withdrawing from life for long periods of time. His outward silence could not hide his inner restlessness and regret from his mentor, an elf in the service of the lady Galadriel. Unwilling to speak to his mentor or receive advice, Gilduin left Lindórinan and wandered for years in Greenwood the Great. Shortly after he returned home, a messenger came from Eregion requesting aid. Eldegon, the commander of the contingent, had known Gilduin from years ago and asked him to join the company. Gilduin agreed and was assigned as standard bearer.

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Arestevana's post

Gilduin gazed at the sunlit trees of Laurelindórinan in silence, hearing little of the bustle that surrounded him. It had been many years since he had been so near Caras Galadhon, its protective walls extending in a gentle arc before him. Years ago they had welcomed him with the promise of safety, renewal, and fulfillment. Now they closed him out. Though he was not forbidden passage through the high green walls, he knew he could no more cross the white bridge of the Galadrim than he could return the golden leaves carpeting Lindórinan to their silver branches and reclaim the springtime of his youth.

Gilduin reluctantly withdrew from his revere as someone approached him. He took quick note of his surroundings. A stone’s throw to the north lay Caras Galadhon, its great mellyrn stretching sunward above them. Outside the city a great number of elves had gathered, many of them bearing weapons. He turned his attention to the elf who stood in front of him.
“Greetings, Gilduin Lindorion,” said the elf. “It has been many years since last I saw you. Where have been wandering?”
“In Greenwood the Great,” Gilduin replied slowly, adding belatedly, “Eldegon,” as he recalled the elf’s name. “Who calls the Galadrim to arms?”
“A messenger from the Ost-in-Edhil. We send a company to aid the Mírdain. Will you join us?”

Gilduin, caught off guard, felt himself pulling into a state of deep concentration. Though he had just returned to Lindórinan after years of roving, he needed nothing but what he had. He knew that Eldegon expected him to refuse. I do not want your pity. “I will join you,” Gilduin said at last. “Who commands the contingent?”
“I do.” Eldegon replied. If he was surprised at Gilduin’s decision, he did not show it. “What skill have you in combat?”
Gilduin thought a moment. “No sword-skill, if that’s what you mean. I have no close weapon, save my knife.” He showed Eldegon his dirk and longbow. “I’m a fair shot, and if needs be I can keep my head with a quarterstaff.”
Eldegon shook his head. “I have no need for archers. Three-score already are marching with us, and two-score swordsmen. Will you bear the standard?”
“I will.” Gilduin said, after a moment’s wondering at the request.

Eldegon nodded and led him a short ways south to a hill overlooking the wide clearing where the company was mustering. There he departed momentarily, leaving Gilduin to stare out over the many ranks of warriors. There were six ranks of archers, ten elves in each rank, and ahead of them four ranks of swordsmen. Behind the archers was a line of light wooden carts, laden with food and supplies for the march. The horses that would draw them were tethered a short ways away from the company.

Eldegon returned, carrying the standard of Lindórinan. “You said you could handle a quarterstaff. Can you keep formation while bearing a standard or polearm?” He asked, continuing when Gilduin nodded. “Good. You will march at the herald’s left, in the first rank with myself and my captains.” He handed the standard to Gilduin, who hefted it to feel its weight. The oaken shaft was straight and smooth, and the fabric of the banner, though light, was very strong.

“When do we march, commander?” Gilduin asked with a glance at the sun, which had long passed its zenith and was nearing the horizon.

“Not today,” Eldegon replied. “Tonight the captains meet with Lord Celeborn. Tomorrow we will march, or perhaps the day after.” With that, he nodded briskly to Gilduin and headed toward Caras Galadhon, pausing briefly to speak to another elf before continuing to the city’s gates.

Reluctantly, Gilduin hefted the standard in his hand and left his hilltop post, seeking out his place in the marching order. He reached the first rank and sought out the herald, introducing himself with as few words as possible and taking his place on the elf’s left. He glanced over his shoulder at the green-walled city as dusk crept over the restless company, a thin sliver of sun clinging desperately to the horizon on his right. One by one, lanterns appeared on the walls, until Caras Galadhon gleamed like a jewel, or perhaps a star which had wandered from its place in the darkening heavens. Beside him, the herald had lit a lantern, and by its light Gilduin noticed a green-garbed archer approaching the rank. He occupied himself with the standard and did his best to look busy, but the elf stopped directly in front of him.

Shying away from speech, as he so often did, Gilduin sought for the correct syllable by which to vocalize a noncommittal murmur. He wished to disappear, as did that final finger of golden sun in the face of inexorable night, as the elf addressed him.

“Excuse me, friend, but is this the first rank?”

[piosenniel]

Elves of Lindon


Envinyatar's character

Name: Ondomirë

Age: born in I 200 (310 years at the fall of Gondolin; 2080 in II 1697 when Eregion fell. 245 years older than Gil-galad; 325 years older than Elrond)

Race: Elf; Noldor, originally from Gondolin

Gender: male

Appearance: 6’ 7” (a little over 2 meters), 220 lbs (around 100 kg); lithely muscled, finely chiseled face; grey eyed; raven hair worn in a thick plait to his mid back. Wears: Light grey tunics of a soft material over darker grey breeches. Black twice wrapped, wide leather belt with a plain silver buckle. Black leather, mid-calf boots. Dark blue cape which bears on its left shoulder a silver-white brooch in the shape of an arrow head, set with a deep purple stone.

Weapons: Great bow of yellow yew wood; unadorned black leather quiver hung from his belt fileed with arrows fletched in white, dark blue, purple, and black. Plain short sword in a worn leather sheaf hung opposite to his quiver. Black leather vambraces traced with an arrow head design in silver. Long, light metal mail vest, shimmers like fish scales. Light, silvered leg guards. Silvered helm which bears a fan of purple feathers on its front piece.

Personality, strengths, weaknesses: Even tempered, reliable. Honors the Valar; loyal to the High King. Quiet, reserved man, and save for his size, unobtrusive. Keen observer of those about him. Excellent archer, having served under Duilin in Gondolin with The House of the Swallow. Adequate at blade work for close in fighting.

History: Born in Gondolin about 75 years after Turgon founded it. His family was part of the Folk of the Swallow, one of the twelve Houses of Gondolin. The Folk of the Swallow were formidable archers and served the High King of the Noldor in the defense of the Hidden City.

When Gondolin fell to Morgoth’s troops, Ondomirë escaped with the remnant of Turgon’s people and took refuge with them in the havens at the mouths of the Sirion. Gil-galad, who had become High King after the death of Turgon, was at that time also residing with the Exiles at the Havens. Ondomirë never married; he is the only remaining member of his family.

Elrond was born at the havens and later, after choosing, to remain among the kindred of the Elves, also chose to remain with Gil-galad. After the War of Wrath and the sinking of Beleriand, Gilgalad established a kingdom in Lindon.

Ondomirë pledged his fealty to Gil-galad and also went to Lindon to serve him. During his long years of service, he has grown close to the King and become a trusted advisor.

He has been sent with Elrond and a large troop of 500 Elven warriors from Lindon to assist the Elves in Eregion against the onslaught of Sauron. Ondomirë is the Captain of the Bowmen company comprised of 200 archers. At Gil-galad’s request, he serves as Elrond’s close advisor on this campaign.

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Envinyatar's post

Autumn/SA 1695

It was late in the second day of the council. The sense of urgency had not diminished, nor had the anger. ‘The King counseled the fools,’ murmured Ondomirë to himself, his head shaking at the news that Morgoth’s captain, Sauron, had at last revealed himself. ‘Annatar, he called himself. Lord of Gifts! Pah! Even now the name brings a taste of soured bile to my tongue. Were they so eager for his knowledge that they forgot the hard lessons Fëanor brought upon us?’

Many, many years had passed since the tall, fair-faced Annatar had come to Lindon, offering to teach his skills to the Elves dwelling in the High King’s lands. He’d been sent away then by Gil-galad; his offers to show how Endor, Middle-earth, might be made as fair and lasting as Valinor rejected. Since then, it was told, he had insinuated himself into one of the Elven guilds in Eregion. Teaching them his glamoured skills. And now, dread Wolf that he was, he had pounced on his prey as it contrived to oppose him. His retribution would be swift and overwhelming. Death, and worse, would come to the Elves of Eregion, to their cities, their lands. Sauron’s armies would sweep west over the King’s lands until he and his dark army stood at the borders of Lindon itself.

‘And what does he seek, I wonder?’ asked Ondomirë to himself. ‘He and his Lord always hated the Elves. But reports from Ost-in-Edhil and from Lorien imply there is more than just the wish to subdue the Elven peoples. What have the Mirdain done . . . what has the House of Fëanor done now?’

Ondomirë sat back in his chair, his eyes on Gil-galad at the head of the table as he spoke with various of his trusted captains. He could see the beard of Cirdan as the Elf stroked it, teasing hard answers from it, it seemed, with the thoughtful movements of his fingers. The bright golden hair of Glorfindel gleamed in light thrown from the jeweled lamps. His head moving in ‘yays’ or ‘nays’ as they spoke. And Elrond, his dark grey eyes thoughtful, bent over the map of Eriador, as he traced a route from The Havens to The Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains.

A frown creased Ondomirë’s brow as he watched Cirdan and Glorfindel deferring to what Elrond was saying. The King, too, nodded his head and clapped Elrond on his shoulder. Ondomirë looked up as the King stood, announcing to the room in general now that troops would be sent to aid Celebrimbor and his people in Ost-in-Edhil. And that Lord Elrond would lead them.

‘Now that is an interesting move,’ commented Ondomirë, loud enough for the Elf to his left to hear him. ‘The King has passed over Cirdan and Glorfindel, both more seasoned than Elrond, and chosen the younger Elf to lead his troops for this battle. Why is that I wonder?’ Brows raised, he glanced at the Elf who was now listening to his out-loud ponderings. In the meantime, the King had called for volunteers to lead the various divisions of Elves he would be sending.

His eyes narrowing as he wondered at Gil-galad’s choice, Ondomirë stood, saying he would gather and captain the archers if it were so wished. ‘Best we give the stripling all the support we can, don’t you think?’ he said quietly as he sat back down.

[piosenniel]

Elves of Lindon


Orofaniel's character

NAME: Geldion (Gel-dhi-on)

AGE: 1095

RACE: Noldor elf.

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Geldion is highly skilled with his sword, and it has always been his weapon of choice. His sword was given to him by his brother. At a glance, this sword looks like an ordinary sword, but the blade is much sharper and much lighter than one would think in the first place. If needed, Geldion has proved well with both spears and bow.

APPEARANCE: Tall and slim, like most elves. He has greyish eyes, and they are rather small in his somewhat round face. He has some rather strong features; long and somewhat rare nose, and strong- but not bushy eyebrows. His hair is often worn in a plait. In battles he wears a light armour, helmet, daggers, and of course his sword. He usually wears soft, light tunics with silver embroidery.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: An ordinary elf, but perhaps more skilled in battle strategies and tactics than most. This has not been a natural thing for him, rather a knowledge that has grown with him over the years. He has observed, watched and learned from his superior(s), especially the King and his closest followers – whom Geldion owns much respect. He has, because of this, grown to be a reliable and a loyal advisor.

Geldion is easily attached to people for better or worse. He is likeable and respected amongst his fellow elves.

Geldion likes to have big responsibilities and most of the time he carries them out with great success. He does not like the thought of defeat, or failure of any kind, and is therefore very careful when facing difficult or challenging decisions and so forth. He prefers to have some sort of control over the current situation and be updated on recent events. He is in many ways just an advisor, but he also has a great impact on those who carry out the plans. Therefore in many ways he is some sort of a leader type. Although he has never really led any sort of armies, he knows exactly which tactics that has to be used, and how they should carry out the mission. Although since this is still new to him, one cannot guarantee he won't meet some minor, or bigger, defeats. He is however, a person with strong confident in what he does, and does not easily give up. He is after all, a warrior.

HSTORY: Geldion joined Gil-Galad when he received the kingship of the Noldor. And followed him until Gil-Galad established Lindon, where Geldion also settled. Geldion is a loyal follower of his High King, and has been so ever since Gil-Galad received the kingship of the Noldor.

Most of his family were lost to him during the Great Battle. His brother mourned and was lost shortly after, leaving his sword behind, for Geldion to use.

Geldion is a close friend to Ondomirë. They met each other in Lindon when Gil-Galad established it. Both of them are to this day humble servants and loyal to The King. Geldion has therefore, much like his friend, volunteered to be captain for the swordsmen.

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Orofaniel's post

‘Best we give the stripling all the support we can, don’t you think?’ he said quietly as he sat back down.

"Ondomirë, you know better, age and wisdom are not automatically connected," Geldion said under his breath, smiling at the elf, who had just gotten up from his seat to volunteer to lead the archers in the upcoming battle.

It was Geldion turn to get up. "My friend here Ondomire," Geldion started, looking back at the elf, "has just volunteered to lead one of the division," Geldion then said. "Aye, it will be the archers," Ondomirë confirmed. "It would be my honour, my King, if I could lead the division with the swordsmen," Geldion said.

The King looked at him. He didn't look surprised, but curious, or even - in wonder. Why would he volunteer for that, an elf who had not experience whatsoever with leading any force or sort of armies at all? "I know what The King must be thinking. I have not leaded any divisions before. I am merely a humble advisor. I am nevertheless, a warrior as well. I'm highly skilled with the sword, and therefore I would be honoured if the King would grant me the division of swordsmen,” Geldion finished. But just as the words and sentences had slipped from his tongue, he felt as though if he regretted it; this was no place for him. He was not able to lead soldiers into war. It didn’t suit him. He couldn’t do it; he was after all just an advisor. Tactics and strategies was his main field. He was however, a good warrior in combats. He admitted not to be as talented with the spears as with as swords though.

His thoughts circulated for a few seconds, before he opened his mouth again; “It is a task of great responsibility and it is perhaps too much for me to undertake at this point. Thus, I understand if the council wishes me to withdraw and come as a soldier only. Either way, I will do as you command, my King." He straightened his back, not looking the King in the eyes. He found himself trying to avoid the eyes of the elves present at the meeting.

The elves said naught for a couple of moments. All seemed to be in deep thought. Elrond had turned away from the map, and was now looking at Gil -Galad

"I think it only fair that you shall be the captain of the swordsmen," and elf said, but not clear or loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Indeed," another elf whispered. "You have served me well over the years," the King said. "You shall therefore lead the swordsman, but remember not only to use your skills when in battle, but also when preparing for it. You shall go not only as a Captain, but also as an advisor. Remember that," Gil-Galad said quietly. A feeling of great sensation of joy and relief reached Geldion's body and mind as the King spoke. Maybe he had been too critical towards his own abilities. Perhaps he was the right man for this task after all. The king, the man Geldion respected the most, showed confidence in him by giving him the swordsmen division, and thus Geldion promised himself not to fail or be defeated.

"Thank you, my King. I will not fail," he said and thanked the elves altogether, as he bowed. "Let us hope so," Ondomirë said, smiling at him as Geldion seated again.

[piosenniel]

Orcs of Sauron’s forces


Encaitare's character

NAME: Glûtkask, title of Boldog

AGE: doesn't really apply to Maiar, does it?

RACE: Boldog -- a corrupted, lesser Maia in an orkish hröa. For info regarding this concept, check it out here or in HerenIstarion's excellent essay here. I think this race would be quite befitting of an orc captain, even though it's not an idea contained within the Sil.

GENDER: male

WEAPONS: He wears armor of metal and leather that is in slightly better condition than that of the average orc. He carries a single-edged sword which is accompanied by an axe. On his head is a crude, spiked helm.

APPEARANCE: quite large and powerfully built. Also remarkably ugly, as orcs tend to be. He's been around for a while, so he has several noticable battle scars. Mottled skin and narrowed yellow eyes.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Think of the average orc. Actually, think of a really, above-averagely nasty orc. Got a good picture in your mind? Okay, now think of an orc worse than that. That'll be Glûtkask, roughly speaking -- ruthless, foul, and always looking out for Number One above anyone else. Among his strengths are his ability to hack off the heads and stab the guts of the Free Peoples. Although it's Sauron who is the master of their battle strategies, Glûtkask didn't get to be a captain by being stupid -- he can usually get himself and/or his garrison out of a pinch.

HISTORY: As a Maia, Glûtkask was corrupted some time in the First Age. He served Morgoth, assuming his orkish form at this time, though he went by a different name. He fled after his master's downfall, laying low until Sauron began to gain power. In accordance with Sauron's efforts to promote the Black Speech, Glûtkask took the name he now bears. Because of his history of being a faithful servant (and his excellent references, as it were ) he's garnered a fair amount of trust from Sauron. Glûtkask is not particularly interested in gaining personal power; he is relatively satisfied with his position.

~*~

+ carry-along orcs in the garrison